


be my consolation

by zetaophiuchi (ryuujitsu)



Series: let the plot die [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A Surprising Lack of Breathplay When You Consider the Source Material, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Evil Space Gays, Explicit Sexual Content, Germaphobe!Hux, Inappropriate Use of the Force, M/M, Marathon Sex, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-TLJ, Precious Bodily Fluids, RIP hux's uniform, Rimming, basically a bodice-ripper, boxers or briefs in a galaxy far far away, let the plot die, literally 5k of absolute filth, looks like everyone in the first order goes commando, mild mind break, mystery undergarments, refractory period? don't make me laugh, the sith like to indulge, troll!Ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 14:23:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13789587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryuujitsu/pseuds/zetaophiuchi
Summary: "Are you quite finished?" Hux says, only a little breathless. "Sir."His hair swoops down over his forehead in long strands. His mouth and chin are wet with saliva. Kylo runs his thumb across Hux's lower lip and plunges it in, watching as Hux's eyes widen with indignation."I'm just beginning," Kylo says, "General."





	be my consolation

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't figure out which resurgent-class destroyers remained post-TLJ, so I made up a new one. "Guerredon" is supposedly an Old French form of "guerdon" (recompense, reward, "just desserts" in a stretch). I used it in place of guerdon because _guerre_. Just imagine Kylo purring that at you, I guess.
> 
> The title is from the first line of [Faded Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sd_nfwzdts8) by BØRNS: _ooooh, galaxy, galaxy, won't you be my consolation?_
> 
>  
> 
> other notes
> 
>   * motherfucken space neo-nazis
>   * what has my life become though
>   * wrote this entire thing listening to Havana on repeat
>   * 'kriff' is a delightful word
>   * [@FLWhite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FLWhite/pseuds/FLWhite), this is your fault
>   * /hides face
> 


Rey severs their connection, and Kylo, flying toward her across the shrinking channel between their minds, hands outstretched to seize her, crashes into a barrier as solid as the cliffs of Chandrila and breaks into foam across its face. His blood roars in his ears like the irresistibly rising tides of the silver seas of his childhood, which far from lulling him to sleep would haunt his waking hours, sweeping, sweeping. He scrabbles at the barrier with his fingertips and finds it as smooth and impenetrable as crystal:  no purchase to be found, and only a line of reflections staring back at him in the void, stretching into infinity, the long white faces creased with grief. One by one they bow their heads and vanish, leaving him alone in the dark. Kylo opens his eyes and looks down at the black-gloved hands curled uselessly in his lap, and the salted air of Crait burns the back of his throat.

 

Ghosts—the hangar is full of them, of Luke Skywalker and a persistent, lingering sea-smell—Chandrila again—of engine grease, wet Wookie, leather and metal and juri juice in unlabeled containers. Ghosts hover above the ghostly vulptices, reemerging now into the cavernous darkness, their crystalline bodies tinkling like chimes, like dangling dice during a rough jump into hyperspace. They growl at him from a safe distance. Kylo stands, brushes the salt from his knees. He breathes out, smooths his uniform, and exits the hangar.

 

The light is fading on Crait. White and red, red and white—and black—General Hux waits on the torn red surface, arms folded, gaberwool fluttering in the wind, diminutive before the spidered wreckage of the Resistance’s ski speeders. The AT-ATs rise above him. Another cliff, Kylo thinks.

 

“General,” he says. It takes a moment to register that he has spoken aloud. He replays the vibration in his chest.

 

“Supreme Leader,” Hux says. He falls into step beside Kylo, his movements rigid and precise. Kylo is reminded of a mechanical arm returning to rest, slotting into place after completing its limited rotation. “We have established a perimeter. There were—” Hux sniffs “—no survivors. What are your orders?”

 

“Return to the _Guerredon_ ,” Kylo says. Salt grinds beneath his boots. “There’s nothing left for us here.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Hux says, in carefully neutral tones. Even more carefully, he avoids Kylo’s eyes, as though this will save him from having his mind read. He is safe, as a matter of fact, but not because of his obstinate dead-eyed staring into the middle distance; Kylo wants to reach inside now and pluck at his thoughts, just to see him jump, but he can’t. Rey’s silence hangs over his brain like a black veil, heavy and suffocating. He can’t find his way beyond it. He’s not sure he wants to.

 

 

 

The impermeable, deadening silence in his mind is comforting in its own way. It creates a pleasant sort of pressure at Kylo’s temples. He isn’t too worried about it yet:  he can still manipulate the objects around him with physical gestures, throwing open the doors of his new, makeshift chambers aboard the _Guerredon_ with a lazy wave of his hand, loosing his cloak with a twitch of his fingers. The gaberwool is streaked with salt and mineral traces, black edging into gray, and he summons the cleaning droids to collect it. Boots next—he removes these by hand and tosses them into the corner. Socks—to the incinerator.

 

He swipes a glove down the plastron, but all this achieves is the rubbing of white dust deeper into its seams.

 

Very well:  let it all be taken, Kylo thinks. Taken away and burned. He is a knight no longer. He will obtain new robes, finer ones. A Supreme Leader must look the part. He starts to unfasten the plastron.

 

A chime signals Hux’s arrival. Kylo admits him with another wave. The movement, suppressed beneath the veil, feels sticky.

 

Hux does not press the button to slide the doors shut again. He stands on the seam. Half of the _Guerredon_ ’s systems remain offline, damaged by debris from the wreck of the _Supremacy_ ; the corridor beyond is dim and gray. Red lights blink on and off behind Hux’s ears.

 

Kylo doesn’t have to read Hux’s mind to know his true thoughts, in any case. He can see the contempt in the curl of Hux’s upper lip, in the creak of his leather gloves as his fingers shift inside them. He can see the fear tightening Hux’s throat.

 

It fills him with something resembling delight.

 

“Hux,” Kylo says, and watches as Hux stills his fingers with an effort. “What is it?”

 

“Summon High Command,” Hux says. His gaze, so evasive on Crait, is direct now. _Baby blues_ , Kylo thinks, and the voice in his mind does not belong to him, but to a starfighter cadet, helmet under his arm, grinning after a departing lover while young Ben stared aghast from his hiding place. Starfighters and OB-99, cocky white grins and flight suits, and beneath it all, the whispering sea—

 

Hux is still talking, his voice sharpening with urgency. “We must act immediately to preserve our advantage,” he says. “The Resistance has been shattered; now is our chance.”

 

“Chance?” Kylo repeats, feeling a flicker of amusement. He subdues it brutally; he’ll start smiling in another moment. “ _Advantage?_ I emptied a garrison’s worth of ammunition into a ghost. We lost their ship in the mines. We lost _your_ hyperspace tracker. Advantage?” he repeats. “We’ve lost our _Supremacy_. They’ve escaped.”

 

“Then let us _hunt them down_ ,” Hux says, voice rising, and then he checks himself. Kylo watches him swallow. “Sir. If I may—”

 

“Please do,” Kylo says, and Hux looks at him searchingly, as though he is the Force-user, with his hand on the glowing threads of hysteria lacing their way across Kylo’s brain. “General Hux—go right ahead.”

 

Hux locks his suspicion away—a steel shutter sliding into position, wiping all expression from his face.

 

“Thank you,” he says, prim. “Supreme Leader—Ren. Time is short. There is uncertainty in the ranks. If you do not act now to address their concerns, quell the rumors—to _command_ them—then I fear we risk sliding into—” a moue of distaste “—disorder.”

 

“Your soldiers, disordered?” Kylo says. “I doubt it. Let them be, Hux. A few hours’ rest won’t hurt them.”

 

Hux transparently disagrees; his hands fist at his sides. “You cannot hide yourself away,” he says, and his voice is strident, insistent. “You are no longer a weapon; you cannot put yourself into stasis between battles. You cannot wait to be _called upon_. Snoke is dead. If you want to lead—then lead. Summon High Command.”

 

“I’m looking at the entirety of High Command right now, General,” Kylo says. “High Command has summoned itself—to my chambers. The others are dead. I felt—I _saw_ —them die. You’re all that’s left, Hux. I suppose I should congratulate you on your continued survival.”

 

“I have taken the liberty of promoting several officers,” Hux replies, evidently choosing to ignore this last remark. “I have that authority. Juniors, youngsters, yes, but promising—calm under fire and ruthless in pursuit of our enemies—”

 

“Shoring up your position already?” Kylo says, and grins savagely.

 

“I have not the slightest intention of staging a coup,” Hux says, stiff. “My one desire is to protect and serve our glorious empire. I am merely an instrument of your will.” He sways in the open air of the corridor—expecting a wall at his back, no doubt, Kylo thinks, and finding none. “Test me, if you must,” Hux continues, and raises his chin.

 

Kylo doesn’t. Kylo can’t, but Hux doesn’t have to know that. He looks at Hux and says nothing.

 

“What will it take to convince you to act?” Hux cries.

 

“A shower,” Kylo says. “A new set of robes. Maybe even a hot meal. Not necessarily in that order. The girl is gone; she has shielded herself from me. There is nothing we can do. Get out, Hux.”

 

“Nothing we can do, nothing left for us,” Hux quotes, disbelieving. “Supreme Leader, have you lost your mind?”

 

“Dismissed,” Kylo says.

 

“No!” Hux exclaims. “Damn you, Ren, you must—” 

 

Jackboots in the corridor:  the patrol making its rounds. Hux steps forward, over the threshold, and slams his fist against the lock, sealing the doors closed behind him and erasing the blinking darkness.

 

“Poor tactics, General,” Kylo says. “Cutting off your only escape route.”

 

“You can’t choke the life out of me now,” Hux says, taking a deep breath, “you _need_ me.”

 

“But you’ve already taken the liberty of promoting several junior officers,” Kylo says. “I have it on good authority that they are—promising.”

 

Hux gulps, looking for all the universe like a man trapped in a very small ring with a slavering nexu. His eyes dart around the edges of the room and come to a sudden stop, filling with revulsion.

 

Kylo, following his fixed stare, realizes that Hux’s gaze has been arrested by Kylo’s _boots_ —he’s scowling at Kylo’s kriffing _boots_ , so haphazardly discarded—

 

No, not just his boots:  Hux is frowning at _Kylo_ , smeared with white dust, at the tangle of his unwashed dark hair, at his jaw, shadowed with stubble.

 

He looks at Hux then, at the neat lines of his jacket, devoid of salt dust, at his wide, gleaming belt, at his soot-black breeches, his hair slicked back over his skull like a glossy red cap. Somewhere between the battle on Crait and the hurried loading of soldiers and weaponry back onto the surviving ships, as the mineral planet slid into dangerous subzero temperatures at stardown, Hux has taken the time to put on a new uniform, to smooth his hair down, maybe even scrape _manually_ at his chin with a razor, in order to speak to Kylo, to _present_ himself to Kylo like—

 

The pressure in Kylo’s skull is increasing, squeezing, dimming his vision until all he can see is Hux:  the slim red flame of a candle flickering in the darkness. He reaches up—

 

Hux flinches—

 

—and runs his hand sideways through Hux’s hair, disturbing its glossy surface. He can feel the heat of Hux’s scalp, and the silky fineness of each individual strand of hair, through his glove.

 

Hux gapes at him.

 

“Supreme Leader,” he says, strangled. Kylo’s fingers are still in his hair. “What— _what_ —are you—”

 

“You asked what it would take to convince me to act,” Kylo says slowly. He'd offered the galaxy to Rey, and she'd thrown his offer and his pleas back in his face. Hux would have accepted. He would have torn the galaxy from Kylo’s cupped hands before he’d had a chance to open his mouth, spitting and snarling as Snoke’s red banners curled into embers and ashes around them.

                                                                                                                       

“This—you—don’t _pet_ me,” Hux says, in a whisper. “Ren—Ren. What’s happened? You’ve gone mad.”

 

Kylo pulls his hair tight in his fist, and Hux inhales sharply.

 

“Maybe,” Kylo says. “Will you or won’t you?”

 

Hux tries to sneer; his mouth trembles instead. “It doesn’t appear I have any choice in the matter,” he says.

 

 _Baby blues_ , the voice in Kylo’s head repeats, _baby blues, wouldya look at those baby blues._

 

“No,” Kylo agrees; he yanks Hux’s head back and kisses him.

 

Another sharp noise from Hux, this time an exhalation through his nostrils. Kylo presses in, tugging at Hux’s hair. Hux doesn’t yield, exactly, but he staggers. His mouth is warm, his lips are soft, and his breath is objectively pleasant:  he’s been chewing fennel seeds.

 

Kylo chases the taste with his tongue, swiping across Hux’s front teeth, which are smooth and clean.

 

He opens his eyes to find Hux staring at him, pale and furious.

 

“Are you quite finished?” Hux says, only a little breathless. “Sir.”

 

His hair swoops down over his forehead in long strands. His mouth and chin are wet with saliva. Kylo runs his thumb across Hux’s lower lip and plunges it in, watching as Hux’s eyes widen with indignation.

 

“I’m just beginning,” Kylo says, “ _General_ ,” and he rubs his thumb along the inside of Hux’s cheek and over his tongue, enjoying the way the muscle tenses under his touch and the slight, almost inaudible gag that the movement produces. He draws his thumb out and pushes it back in, once, twice, smiling; the salt and blood and dirt on his glove must taste foul. The color is rising in Hux’s face, burning along the tops of his cheekbones, bright stinging red. Kylo isn’t deluded enough to think it’s arousal. “Don’t even think about biting me,” he says. “I’ll snap your neck.”

 

Hux snarls around his fingers. Kylo laughs and leans in to nip at the side of Hux’s mouth, and then at the beating pulse in what little of his throat is visible above his collar, feeling the rasp of his cheek against Hux’s skin. Hux smells like soap and brilliantine.

 

He draws his hand away, wiping a slick trail down the side of Hux’s face and a wet patch across the front of his uniform.

 

“Bastard,” Hux murmurs.

 

He’s left teeth marks in Kylo’s glove, little indents where the base of the thumb meets his palm. Kylo grins down at his hand. He pulls the glove off and slaps Hux’s cheek with it—Hux hisses—before throwing it aside.

 

The red is spreading on Hux’s skin, blotchy and uneven now. His chest heaves with rapid breaths.

 

Kylo discards his second glove, tossing it over his shoulder—Hux’s eyes track its trajectory, outraged—and he slides his bare hands over Hux’s face, feeling the heat of his skin, and kisses him again, dragging his thumbs across Hux’s cheekbones—

 

He grips Hux’s skull with both hands, squeezing Hux at the hinge of his clenched jaw, until Hux’s mouth opens.

 

Kylo groans into it, the noise vibrating between their bodies. Hux barely kisses back, standing stiffly at attention under Kylo’s hands; beyond the initial wet mutter of unhappiness at Kylo’s tongue sliding into his mouth, he doesn’t make a sound.

 

Kylo draws back. Hux is staring determinedly over his shoulder.

 

“Lost in thought?” Kylo says, stroking the tight line of his jaw.

 

“Just waiting for you to come to your senses,” Hux replies coldly.

 

“You’ll be waiting a long time,” Kylo says, and kneels down.

 

Hux draws an unsteady breath. His gloved hands close atop Kylo’s, trying to stall his progress with his fasteners. “What are you—” His voice trails off into nothing as Kylo throws his belt to the side and jerks his breeches open. _Question answered_ , Kylo thinks, _and no points awarded, Head Boy_ :  it’s obvious what Kylo is doing, what Kylo intends.

 

Hux seems to have frozen, becoming one with the blank white architecture of the room. He gapes down at Kylo, stunned.

 

“Like what you see?” Kylo says, nosing at Hux’s pubic hair, at his cock, rubbing his cheek along Hux’s hipbone. “The Supreme Leader at your feet.”

 

He takes Hux into his mouth and sucks. Hux shakes all over; his hands scrabble at the door behind him, seeking a handhold and finding nothing.

 

“Go ahead, you can touch me,” Kylo says. He glances up:  Hux is staring at him, lips parted, face flushed. “Put your hands in my hair,” he says, removing Hux’s gloves one after the other. Hux’s palms are wet with sweat. Kylo grins, crooked, and guides them to his head. “Go on,” he says, “it’s clean enough.”

 

He can feel Hux hardening under his tongue. He works Hux’s balls with his left hand, squeezing and rubbing, and Hux’s breathing grows short and uneven.

 

Hux’s hands stay limp in his hair until Kylo nuzzles forward, stretching his lips around the length of him, swallowing him down to the root, and then he huffs out a shocked breath and curls over Kylo, stomach trembling, fingers tightening.

 

 _That’s it_ , Kylo thinks, sliding back just a bit, _that’s it, pull my hair and make some kriffing noise, you uptight prick,_ rubbing his tongue along the underside of Hux’s cock, breathing hard through his nose, while Hux gasps above him. The veil is heavy around him, deadening his thoughts, still comfortable but beginning to frustrate him, too—he wants more than anything to be able to tease Hux telepathically—to ensnare his every thought and show him there will be no escape from Kylo, even in his mind.

 

“Supreme Leader—” Hux wheezes, a warning. Kylo pulls away with a deliberately noisy pop, and Hux’s legs buckle, and he slides down the door, biting at his own knuckles to muffle his cry. Kylo follows him down, nudging his sprawled out legs a little bit wider, scooping them over his shoulders as he forces Hux’s cock all the way down his throat. Hux’s hands find his hair on their own this time, and Hux _moans_.

 

Kylo feels his own cock twitch in response. He pulls back long enough to drag Hux’s breeches off the rest of the way, leaving them tangled around Hux’s boots, and then he dives back in, cupping Hux’s ass with his hands, more or less drooling for it.

 

He guides Hux’s hips, pushing them up and down, back and forth, until Hux gets the idea and starts to fuck Kylo’s mouth in earnest, still cloaked in obstinate silence above the squelching of saliva and the quiet slap of his balls against Kylo’s chin, until he can’t bear it anymore and starts making little breathy cries every time his cockhead rubs against the back of Kylo’s throat. Kylo digs his fingertips into Hux’s ass and rams him deeper, and Hux’s hands clench to the point of pain—

 

“Been a while, General?” Kylo says, indistinct and wet. He starts to swallow and thinks better of it, rearing up to press his mouth to Hux’s instead.

 

Hux, still shuddering, tries to squirm away, but Kylo is kneeling on his breeches, trapping his legs, and the door is unyielding behind him—not that he would dare punch the release button and tumble out into the corridor now, with his pants around his ankles and the Supreme Leader crouched between his thighs. He flinches as Kylo licks into his mouth, flinches at the bitter taste of _himself_ , makes a noise of disgust that drags, improbably, into a sigh.

 

“That’s better,” Kylo says, and Hux stiffens.

 

“You spiced-out _lunatic_ ,” he says, voice raw. He flinches again as Kylo smears come across his lips. “Don’t—that’s disgusting—”

 

“I like it,” Kylo says, slipping his fingers inside Hux’s mouth and feeling Hux’s tongue curling around them, soft and warm. “Hux. I’m going to make a mess out of you.”

 

“What,” Hux mumbles, still trying to enunciate around Kylo’s fingers and barely managing it, “haven’t you _had enough_ of—oh—” He breaks off as Kylo rolls his hips. “ _Oh_ —” he says, wildly, frenetically, “not—not here, Ren, not on the floor—”

 

“Floor’s as good a place as any,” Kylo says, crawling forward until he’s practically sitting in Hux’s lap, rocking against him.

 

“Your _uniform_ ,” Hux screeches, appalled.

 

“I’m surprised you can get out of bed in the morning and consent to exist in this filthy universe,” Kylo says. He reaches between them and daubs wetness up across the starched belly of Hux’s jacket. “Oops. Would you look at that.”

 

“You—”

 

Kylo lifts him with a crook of his finger, noting how Hux’s eyes go shocked and glassy at the movement, and throws him fifteen feet backwards into his bed, twitching the privacy glass out of the way just in time to keep Hux from crashing through it. Hux raises himself onto his elbows, vacuuming breath into his lungs, and glares as Kylo glides toward him.

 

He shoves Hux back down and straddles him, pulling at his uniform jacket and the shirt beneath until they’re rucked up around his armpits. 

 

“Out of delicacy towards you, General,” he says, "we’ll do it on a bed.” Then, with a little help from the Force to loosen the seams, he tears Hux’s shirt and jacket from his body and sweeps the remnants to the side.

 

Hux is nearly spitting with rage. “Bastard!”

 

“As if you don’t have ten replacements lined up and ready to go,” Kylo says. “It’s a far cry from Snoke’s boudoir, _Armitage_ ,” he continues, scraping his fingernails over Hux’s nipples, over the red hair and redder flush spreading across his chest, “but I hope you find it more agreeable than the floor—”

 

Hux hooks a leg around Kylo’s hips and an arm around Kylo’s neck and crams their mouths together, having apparently decided to speed things along. Kylo can almost hear him thinking, cold and calculating, _Let’s get this over with_ —

 

Kylo reacts anyway, panting hard against the smirk on Hux’s mouth. He unclips his belt and fastenings and yanks his breeches down perfunctorily, feeling a shock of cold air against his cock, and then, just as shockingly, searingly hot, the palm of Hux’s hand as it curls around him.

 

Hux strokes him with tight, twisting movements, rubbing the pad of his thumb in small merciless circles against the underside of Kylo’s cockhead, smile growing wide and vicious as Kylo moans and thrusts into his fist, and his kisses grow careless and untidy.

 

He can feel himself starting to go, the sensation tightening deep inside his belly—he bites down on his own lip—

 

“That’s it,” Hux says, coaxingly, “that’s it,” almost comically eager.

 

Kylo, with monumental effort, bats Hux’s hand away and pins him with the Force. He closes his eyes and breathes out, shuddering in the heavy darkness, while Hux’s protests echo dimly in his ears. _Not yet_ , he thinks—

 

“Not enough,” he says.

 

“Damn you,” Hux says, “what more do you—Ren!”

 

He hisses as Kylo puts his mouth on him again, still sensitive. Kylo spreads him with his hands and heaves Hux’s legs back over his shoulders.

 

“It’s dirty,” Hux gasps out. “Don’t—”

 

Kylo tongues at the ring of muscle, nose pressing into the damp skin just above it, and Hux whimpers.

 

“You like this,” Kylo says, blowing at Hux’s hole just to see it twitch. “Don’t try to pretend you don’t like this.”

 

Hux curses him, then betrays himself by rutting up against Kylo’s mouth. Kylo wraps his arms around Hux’s torso, holding him down with the Force-amplified weight of his body, and licks at him until he stops making those noises of disgust, until he grows soft and pliant, hands loose and quivering in Kylo’s hair.

 

Kylo pulls away easily enough and straightens up, sitting back on his heels. Hux’s gaze falls on his cock, flushed and dark against his belly.

 

“What now,” he says, exhausted.

 

There’s nothing to hand besides an old tin of droid lubricant—definitely not its intended use, but better than spit, and ten times as slippery. Kylo brings it winging across the room, uncaps it, and pours it all over his hand and Hux’s groin. He strokes over Hux’s cock with a filthy wet _shlick_ —

 

Hux _gags_.

 

“Chin up,” Kylo says. He tries to sound reasonable, rational— _measured_ —but he’s breathing too hard. Hux’s skin is luminously pale in the darkness, wet and gleaming under Kylo’s hands. “Nothing a little soap can’t fix later.”

 

“You’re sick,” Hux says. “You’re—ah, _stars_ —” He hits his head against the wall as Kylo pushes his finger inside to the second knuckle.

 

“I’m guessing you’ve done this before,” Kylo says, sliding his finger deeper and trying not to groan at how tight and hot Hux is around him. “That’s what they do for a good time, isn’t it, all the boys on Arkanis?”

 

Hux frowns. “It was a co-ed academy, you addlepated, laserbrained— _ooh_ ,” he says, low and surprised, and stares up at the ceiling.

 

“The question stands,” Kylo murmurs, stroking at the same spot while Hux shudders. He’s two fingers deep now, squishing and twisting. Hux’s legs are tense on either side of him, hands white-knuckled as they grip the sheets, eyes vacant. Kylo spreads his fingers, relishing every tremor that runs through Hux’s body.

 

Hux’s cock is fully hard again, leaking more and more against his stomach with every press of Kylo’s fingers. Kylo mouths at it, slipping his ring finger in, pushing past the initial resistance, and Hux jolts and pants, grinding down on Kylo’s hand.

 

“Stars, Hux,” Kylo says, ragged, as Hux’s hips jerk helplessly and his feet slide across the sheets. He imagines fucking Hux with his entire hand, pushing it in to the wrist, being engulfed while Hux quakes apart beneath him, too full to even cry out.

 

Hux shivers as Kylo bends to lap at him again, pressing into him with his tongue and his fingers, heedless of the astringent, chemical tang of the oil. It occurs to Kylo suddenly that droid lubricant might be poisonous. He shrugs the thought aside; he’s eaten worse. He draws back with another obnoxious squelch—Hux barely reacts—finds the tin again, and empties its contents into his palm. He slicks up his cock, hissing at the sensation and noticing with some surprise that his hands are shaking.

 

The veil trembles around him, lifting momentarily, and Kylo pauses, distracted, like a man squinting and blinking after stepping out into bright starlight, smearing lubricant across the sheets. The darkness settles again over his dazzled eyes.

 

He comes back to himself as Hux presses his hand against his jaw, forcing his head to the side.

 

“Kiss me again with that mouth,” Hux says, pushing at Kylo’s chin, “and I’ll kill you, I swear it, Ren, I’ll find a way—”

 

Kylo laughs into his palm. He lines himself up against Hux, slipping a bit before he finds his way. He angles his cock, braces one hand on the bed, and pushes—

 

“ _Kriffff_ ,” Hux gasps.

 

His hands fall away. Kylo keeps going:  he can feel Hux yielding beneath him, _around_ him, inch by delicious inch, hands clawing at the bed, head lolling back, hair in his eyes, mouth dropping open—

 

Kylo slides all the way home.

 

“Oh, stars,” Hux says, unsteadily, hand splaying across his belly and sliding upward toward his throat, the other fisting in the sheets, eyes dark and staring, “Ren—”

 

“You feel so good,” Kylo says, “so hot—Hux—ah, _shit_ ,” and Hux’s mouth quirks downward in a weak approximation of a sneer. He looks like another man with his hair swooping down his forehead, softer, bewildered and so flustered, eyes and cheeks bright. His thighs squeeze at Kylo’s waist. Kylo moans. “Hux, Hux—I’m gonna—”

 

“By—all—means,” Hux manages, “be my— _guest_ ,” and Kylo draws out, groaning, and drives back in. Hux convulses.

 

Just like that, the veil Rey hung between them shivers and dissipates, and the Force surrounds him, suffusing Kylo’s every sense with golden dreamy darkness, pouring over him, surging _through_ him—

 

 _More, deeper_ —someone else’s voice in his head, mingling with his own— _yes_ —

 

Hux stares up at him. “What—” he starts, and chokes, wide-eyed as Kylo spreads across the surface of his mind like rolling black smoke, seeping into every crevice. Hux jerks beneath him and comes immediately, spilling between their stomachs.

 

“ _Oh_ —”

 

Kylo can feel everything, every thought— _kriffkriffkriff_ kriff _I’m going to die_ —every thunderous beat of Hux’s heart, the prickle of Kylo’s soiled gaberwool against his nipples, the wet swollen head of his cock, still dribbling, the memory of Kylo’s tongue between his buttocks, slick and obscene, and above it all, overwhelming, crushing, the feeling of Kylo _inside_ him, the drag and the stretch—

 

Kylo shouts and comes, tumbling into a pleasure so absolute he loses his senses. The room recedes into darkness, all vision sucking down to a pinpoint, to the feeling of Hux twitching and tightening around him, draining him dry—

 

His hearing returns first:  water spattering against the crystal cliffs—the clinking of white fur on the vulptices—of rain on rooftops, slotting past steel mullions and glass panes, drowning out the moist panting breaths of a boy alone in his dormitory on Arkanis as he fumbles at his trousers—

 

Kylo opens his eyes.

 

He’s still buried in Hux, buried to the hilt, hands planted on either side of Hux’s head, rocking into him, dragging unwilling gasps from Hux’s lips—he starts to bend forward, groaning, ready to bury his face in Hux’s shoulder—

 

 _Crystal_ —

 

Hux’s monomolecular blade fell out of his sleeve when Kylo tore away his uniform; he’s managed to find it, somehow, amid the shifting bedclothes, and he holds it now to Kylo’s throat with remarkably steady hands, all things considered.

 

“Stop this,” he says, wild-eyed. “Ren— _Kylo_ —stop—”

 

“Really?” Kylo says, trying and failing to raise his eyebrows, unable to control the movement of his hips—kriff, his voice is wrecked—

 

“Stop,” Hux gasps, as though Kylo can’t hear every _cell_ of his body crying out for more.

 

As though Kylo can _stop_ —

 

He brushes Hux’s hands away, presses them into the mattress with the Force—shatters the knife into stardust, almost as an afterthought—and Hux’s body _shudders_ , suddenly so tight and hot around him that he thrusts involuntarily forward with a low gasp. Hux’s eyes slide shut; his mouth parts, lips trembling as he pants, shallow.

 

“Ren, this is—insanity,” he manages. “You’re—shit—get out of my head, blast it—oh, kriff, what are you doing to me? Please, _please_ —”

 

Kylo adjusts his angle and thrusts, _hard_ , and Hux sobs.

 

 _I can’t I can’t I can’t_ —

 

“Shh,” Kylo says, stroking his cheeks, his eyelids, “Armitage,” and Hux keens under him.

 

Kylo kisses him, then, and Hux doesn’t try to turn his head away; he lunges up to meet Kylo with a clatter of teeth. Kylo surges against him, with his body and with the Force. Hux’s mouth parts under his in a scream. Kylo swallows it down.

 

 

 

The repairs on the _Guerredon_ have finished; the ship is humming around them, power fully restored, the bright white light of the corridor seeping in through the joints of the door. They’ll be looking for Hux soon, or for his body. He’s been missing from the bridge far too long for comfort.

 

Sure enough, Hux’s pager lights up on the floor from within the heap of his clothes.

 

“You want to get that?” Kylo asks, eyeing it lazily. He doesn’t expect an answer—not a coherent one, anyway.

 

Hux lies beneath him, fucked sloppy, moaning as Kylo slides the head of his cock up and down between Hux’s buttocks, teasing at the edge of his hole.

 

“Please!” he says, in a harsh whisper, and he whines as Kylo dips the tip of his cock in and pulls it out again. “Please, Kylo—my lord— _please_.”

 

Kylo eases in, and Hux wails into his hands. He opens his arms and Kylo sinks into them, fucking little sighing gasps from Hux’s throat. Hux clings to him, mouthing wetly into his shoulder.

 

“Don’t you feel a little better now?” Kylo says. He tries to raise himself to his elbows so he can look at Hux’s face, but Hux won’t let him, arms and legs locked around his back, holding him tight, cheek pressed into his chest.

 

Kylo reaches into Hux’s mind and _plucks_ , and Hux’s eyes roll backwards into his skull. He slumps down onto the bed, his entire body softening, relaxing, heavy beneath Kylo’s hands.

 

“Well, General?” Kylo says— _thrust_ —“Armitage? Answer me.”

 

Hux lets out a garbled cry in response, biting at his lip, his face contorting with a pleasure verging on pain.

 

Kylo feels drunk with the Force, swollen with it. The room swims at the edges of his vision, and the universe spins around him—devoid of Rey, true, but what does it matter, when Hux is so warm and wet under his hands?

 

“Do you want more?” he asks, strumming delicately, and Hux twitches, eyes flying open to gaze at him. The blue of his irises has been swallowed up by his pupils, blown wide. His face and hair are wet with tears and sweat, saliva and semen; Kylo wipes his hand through the mess, and Hux sucks his fingers eagerly into his mouth and drools around them, eyelids fluttering.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” he gasps. “Yes—”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you liked, please [reblog](https://hallo-catfish.tumblr.com/post/171250245894/kylux-fic-be-my-consolation)!


End file.
